


Phobias

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Caretaker Mac, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Needles, Pre-Series, Whump Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 03:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Usually, Jack rescues Mac. This time, Mac returns the favor and makes a very capable caregiver. Pre-series. The origin of Jack's fear of needles.





	Phobias

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I get anonymous friends in my tumblr askbox: "[...]If u take prompts I would love one about our badass Deltas canonical fear of needles and Mac helping him thru it. Stitches vaccines i don't really care your choice. Just a suggestion."  
Thanks for the idea, Nonny! I went with an origin story, but Mac still helps him through it. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Special thanks to badwolfrun and 12percentplan for jumping in with lovely ideas on how to answer this ask when I got stuck and urging me to hurt Jack more. 
> 
> Thank you to the MacGyver fandom and the GETC for your continued support. It's great to be part of the best fandom! 
> 
> P.S. If Jack graduated in '93 and this takes place like '13 that would make Jack like 38. For the sake of argument lets round up to 40.

It's not the first time Jack's been tied up.

Not by a long shot.

And it's not even the first time Jack's been tied up for nefarious purposes. Bad joke. He can hear the groans and eye rolls and the "Jack, please don't" from his partner in his head, but all he's got going for him right now is his sense of humor.

That and the hope that Mac is going to be following his trail before long.

He trusts Mac like he's never trusted anyone in his life before. He's secure in the knowledge that Mac is coming for him. Will save him. And can fix whatever they do to him.

That bond of brotherhood, forged in fire, galvanized in hardship, save the world with snarky banter kind of friendship, that fantasy adventurers and buddy cop shows can only dream of achieving. That he never thought was possible in real life. And certainly not something he'd find sixty-four days from retirement with a blond kid only just old enough to drink. Not after the kid nearly broke his jaw in the barracks before they'd even exchanged names.

Never expected to sign up for an extra tour to watch the kid's six, then follow him home, and continue their partnership with the Department of External Services. That was a year ago.

They've been chasing Devin Leedom for the last four months, systematically taken down his organization. Only a few lackeys remain. Leedom himself is responsible for the dwindling numbers. He's sadistic monster. And a creep. Jack is looking forward to putting him away. Or in the ground. He's not picky.

The seed of fear sprouting in his mind comes from lying prone on the table. That is a new one. Face down, the naked skin of his chest and belly pressed against the cool metal table. His shirt is missing. Goosebumps on his arms, they aren't all from the cold. He's seen the photographs of what Leedom has done to his friends.

It's vulnerable, lying here, in only his blue boxer-briefs. Not the first time someone has stripped him down. Torture is all about power. Its all about control. Remind Jack that he has none. His head facing away from the door, even craning his neck to look over his shoulder, he can't get a clear view. Anyone can come and go as they please. Except him.

Arms and legs strapped so he's eagle spread. Anyone who does come into the room gets an eye full.

They took his socks and shoes too. He doesn't know why that in particular bothers him so much.

But it does.

What he can see of the room looks like a horror movie version of a doctor's office.

In Jack's opinion, a lot of doctor's offices look like horror movies. Maybe because he's been in them too often. Or broken into them in the middle of the night to dig bullets from flesh, his and his partner's and every time he looks at all the silver and chrome all he can see are blood stained hands, and soaked gauze, and needles weaving in and out of torn flesh.

The overhead exam light snaps on, an added layer of vulnerability because he is fully on display.

No shadows to hide in.

The sparkling sterling silver tray rattles as Leedom settles it on the small table next to his head, right at his eye level. It's what Jack would do. Force his captive to look at the instruments that will be used against him, or give in to his fears and turn away, admitting his discomfort to his captors.

Jack does what he does best. He starts talking.

"Think I'm up to date on all my shots," Jack glares at the pointed tips of the needles gleaming in the bright lighting. He mentally reviews the files from the briefing on Leedom's organization, considering which type of drugs are going to be pumped into his system, and how long he can hold out against them.

The answer is not very long.

Jack always felt like drugs were cheating. Effective, but cheating. No one can hold out against drugs that target neurotransmitters and change the chemicals in your brain.

Mac can, and has, talked him through the molecular structures of the chemicals and how they work. That's Mac's technique for dealing with the drugs, getting so technical that the bad guys might get their answers but they have to decipher a chemistry lesson to understand it. And people say that Jack is the talkative one.

"Oh Agent, no need to worry." Leedom selects a needle, twirling it between his long nimble fingers. "This is not a hypodermic. No drugs. No poisons. Where would the fun be in that?"

Leedom's fingers brush against a puckered scar on Jack's shoulder. "The story written in your skin is too interesting. A bullet? Painful, of course, but boring."

His fingers dip lower, to the waistband on Jack's shorts, the skin above his hip, wrapping around his side is darker, discolored and rough.

"Whoa there, buddy, you gonna at least buy me dinner first?" Jack focuses on letting his anger build, to keep his skin from crawling at Leedom's overly familiar touch.

"This is more interesting. Not easily identified, a burn perhaps? From saving your partner? The blond boy? Is he coming soon?"

Jack forces his face into a steely mask. He clamps his mouth shut. His instinct to retort with a sarcastic comment, but once Leedom mentions Mac, Jack shuts down. Can't risk letting too much of his anger bleed through. He wants to glare at the man. Tell him off. Threaten him. But he's not going to let Leedom see that Mac is his weakness.

Leedom forces his hand between Jack's skin and the table, his fingers find the long jagged scar on Jack's belly. "Shrapnel? From the Army? Or did you get too close to MacGyver's explosions? How does he feel about that?"

Too late, Leedom is apparently just as familiar with them as they are with him. Jack doesn't need to try to disguise his weakness because Leedom already knows it. Mac must be closing in though, and Leedom knows it, because there's no build up, straight for Jack's metaphorical jugular with vague insinuations about Mac.

"You've had a long career. A dangerous one. Always in the line of fire. But the boy, barely out of his teens. What scars cover his skin?"

Leedom moves back to the head of the table, twirling the needle in his hand again. "I'm sure some of those old injuries still give you trouble sometimes."

Jack shrugs as well as he can with his arms restrained. "Not more than yours are gonna give you after I break all the bones in your face."

"Have you tried alternative therapies? Heat, ice, essential oils?" Leedom places the needle next to Jack's head, selecting another from the tray.

"Punching bad guys usually works just as well. Therapeutic punching," Jack's lips twitch at the idea. He'll suggest that to medical next time he's in. Which might be today. Or might be never.

"Perhaps nerve or muscle stimulation?" Leedom steps back, tapping the needle on the table as he goes.

Jack doesn't move, but follows Leedom's movements in his peripheral vision as long as he can. He can feel the slightest pressure, the tip of the needle scratching against the skin on the back of his neck, trailing down his spine, gliding over each vertebra. Hard enough to scrape a thin scratch through the top layers of skin. It's an annoyance more than it hurts.

"I'm not particularly ticklish," Jack drawls.

The scraping stops in the curve of his lower back, a hand replaces the needle.

"Getting real tired about how handsy you're being there. I ain't a cheap date."

Leedom chuckles, walking his hand up Jack's spine, tracing each knobby prominence, thumb pressing in, digging against bruised flesh, lighting up pathways of pain, but Jack doesn't move, doesn't squirm.

"I know that you defer to your partner in all things science."

"Kid's got a big brain, might as well play to our strengths. I punch guys like you, and he destroys everything you've ever worked for with some sugar and butane."

"Perhaps you'll make an exception this time," Leedom continues, moving back into Jack's line of sight, ignoring his comments. "I find people become more passionate about subjects when they have a personal stake in the topic."

"Had a personal stake in not getting grounded in high school, but I'm sure you've seen my GPA."

"I don't think you're quite the dumb hick you like to pretend you are. I don't think DXS or MacGyver would put up with you if you were. Despite his fondness for you."

Jack doesn't even nibble at the bait, continues talking as if Leedom hadn't spoken. "Miss O'Malley thought that too. Offered extra tutoring. I went but only cause I was hoping she might lean far enough over the table to see something that piqued my interest. Sixteen year old boy and all."

"Hm, you may want to hang onto that pleasant memory," Leedom taunts. "This won't be one, for you."

The needle point presses lightly, teasing, pricking the skin of his lower back. Then plunging deeper. His sciatic nerve lights up. Shooting pain from his back, across his ass and down the back of his leg. Numb and burning. Tingling and aching. All the way down to his foot.

Jack can't help but struggle against the straps holding him down. Flexing his muscles makes it worse. Small aborted movements, trying to free himself from the restraints, from the needle. He lets out a roar of pain, turning his head into his shoulder, teeth biting down, distract himself from this pain by causing another.

He can faintly hear his captor chuckle. Once he gets out of this, if he can ever stand again, he's doing the exact same thing to Leedom. And if he can't stand, he'll use bullets instead of needles.

"What do you think? It's excruciating, isn't it?"

Jack's not sure which sensations are real and which are the agitated nerves screaming for attention. He wants to make a snarky retort, but he's worried all that will make it past his lips are breathless cries of pain. He clenches his teeth.

Leedom makes another selection from the tray, testing durability of the pin between the thumbs and forefingers of both hands, then moves towards the end of the table, down to Jack's foot.

That's fine, his foot is numb anyway. There's only a vague pressure as Leedom manipulates the appendage. Twisting, then turning, and Jack is half afraid the man is going to break his leg and then release his nerves from the numbing needle.

If asked, he would swear that a needle in his foot wouldn't even be felt. Too much pain elsewhere. Too numb there to be noticed.

He was wrong.

It pierces his skin. His toes curl then splay, like it's the worst charlie horse he's ever had. Cramping and aching and it brings tears to Jack's eyes.

Every muscle screams. Tense and contracted.

Jack feels Leedom's hands against his neck again. Another needle glints in the harsh light. Thrust into the juncture of his neck and back.

The muscles of his shoulder seize, straining, pulling against the straps that hold him steady. Unable to relax his arm, to stop the contraction of muscles fighting against the restraints, strap bites into the skin on his wrist, tearing at skin. His hand forms a fist that he can't loosen, his fingers tight, fingernails digging into his palm.

Jack bucks against the pain. He tries to focus on his breathing. Tries to fall back into SERE training.

Leedom buries his fingers in the longer hair of Jack's fauxhawk, near his forehead. His scalp prickles in discomfort as Leedom tightens his hold on Jack's hair to jerk his head off the table, forcing eye contact. Veins and tendons bulging in pain and fury.

"It's so rare that I get a specimen that's strong enough to try to fight back."

Jack focuses on breathing, on not puking because of the pain.

"Do you think you could explain what you're feeling right now?" Leedom asks, the tracing the vein of Jack's neck. The light caress is almost enough that Jack loses his battle with nausea.

"Go. To. Hell." Jack forces through clenched teeth.

"Mmm... yes, that sounds about right." Leedom doesn't release Jack's hair, but reaches around behind him. Metal rattling on metal. A sliver of silver in his hand again, bringing it closer to Jack's face, holding it an inch from Jack's eye. "It's fascinating how much damage, how much pain something so small can cause when properly wielded."

He brings the needle closer. Jack feels his breathing increase. Leedom's grasp tight enough that he can't move his head.

The long pin rests against the delicate skin under his eye, just over his cheekbone. With a slow, steady movement Leedom scratches it against skin, a smooth even line. Blood wells from the cut.

Leedom pulls it back from the wound, holding it still within Jack's field of vision. A droplet of blood clings to the tip of the needle, wobbling until the pull of gravity is too strong and it drops with a splat against the table.

Leedom releases Jack's hair, and his head drops.

Another needle, another spike of agony. Burning through his leg.

"Such strength. I hope you don't end up breaking bones."

Writhing against the restraints. Another pin, pricking skin, driven deeper and a livewire sensation of pain through neural pathways. Aching fire in his belly.

Muscles cramping, seizing. Tendons straining.

Taut. Pushed to their limits.

The pain swirling and blending until Jack can't keep the darkness at bay anymore.

* * *

The latch on the door is nearly silent, but it's still enough to pull him to consciousness. His body responding to the danger. Despite the hum in his ears, and through the haze of pain he hears the edge catch as it swings open.

Jack's heart drops laying on the table, muscles still seizing. Cramping even after he blacked out. He doesn't know how long it was, but he can't even call it a reprieve. The pain continues as though Leedom never left him alone here. The pins in place continuing the torture.

Jack grits his teeth. Leedom won't see his weakness.

A soft gasp stalls the snarky greeting he had prepared.

If he had the muscle strength to do so, and wasn't worried about disturbing the slivers of metal protruding from him, driving them deeper or causing more damage, he'd turn towards the door.

Mac is at his side in a moment whispering his name.

"Hey hoss," Jack whispers through staccato breathing. He feels as though his chest can't expand, the nerves controlling the action paralyzed the same way his arms and legs are.

"What did he do?" Mac asks in horror, his hand coming so close to brushing against Jack's bare shoulder, pulling back at the last second, afraid to cause harm or inflict pain.

"Some crazy acupuncture. Everything's sorta numb but... damn if it don't still hurt. You okay?"

"Yeah," Mac breathes. "Building is contained," he adds as an afterthought. His fingers do brush against Jack's shoulder now. Jack can feel a pressure at the contact, but no warmth, no sensation of comfort. It's an odd empty ache.

"Get 'em out of me, Mac. Please," Jack begs.

Mac leans forward to take a closer look at the needles piercing the skin on Jack's back, neck and shoulders. The muscles taut, contracted and trembling. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"I don't know how."

"Just pull them out," Jack's teeth clench. He can see the pain in Mac's eyes at the uncertainty of what to do next. Mac has always exuded confidence. The best bomb tech in the whole dang Army, but hidden under that, in a place only Jack can see, after years of using trust to chip away at walls, are self-doubts of a young man often tasked with doing the impossible. It's so rare to see Mac so openly doubting his abilities, worrying that he doesn't have a plan.

"I don't want to hurt you," Mac whispers. "I could cause more damage if I don't do this right..."

"Is there an ex-fil team with you? Medics?"

Mac licks his lips. "No," he says softly.

"I can't move, Mac. Nothing. If we're getting out of here, you gotta pull 'em out."

Mac leans in closer again, inspecting each placement.

"Please, Mac. It's like everything is numb, frozen. I can't move but I can feel it burning."

"Yeah, okay," Mac scans the needles again. "What if there's some sort of order that they need to come out..."

Jack focuses on breathing, knowing he needs to let Mac work through the problem himself. He's been in worse situations, felt worse pain, could hold out longer if necessary, but the release from pain is so close that it's making it hard to hang onto his control.

He can hear Mac mumbling about muscles and nerves, and cursing his biology teacher for not holding his attention over chemistry and physics. "Movement might displace the needles, so I can't just carry him... they have to come out. Just follow the entry path. Shouldn't disrupt anything more if they come out the same way they went in."

"Go for it, bud," Jack chokes out. "You got steady hands, I trust you."

"This is different than defusing a bomb."

Jack huffs, he'd shrug if he wasn't worried about causing more damage. Or if he had any kind of muscular control. "Game of operation then. Don't make the buzzer go off."

Mac rolls his eyes, loud enough that Jack can hear from behind, and releases a slow breath. One hand braced against a patch of bare skin on Jack's back. He can feel the muscles twitching, straining. Pats his pockets down for his Swiss Army Knife, using the pliers to grasp one slender needle and with a firm, steady hand, trying to pretend it's not Jack's flesh he's pulling the thin wire from. Blood wells from the pinprick after the needle is removed. They'll have to worry about that later.

There isn't relief when the needle is removed. The muscles don't release their tension.

It's just the first one, Mac tells himself, and the muscles have been contracted a long time. Long enough to cause injury, release lactic acid into Jack's blood stream.

"How long have you been like this?" Mac asks.

"You got a watch on? Sure, feels like a long time. Why? What are you worrying so hard about?"

"The effects of constant contraction on your muscles."

Jack groans as another needle is eased from his body. "Yeah? Guess it sort of feels like the worst work out I've ever done. Ran an Ironman then a tough mudder, complete with live electrical wires as you crawl through mud."

Mac systematically works the pins from Jack's flesh. Inspecting each one to make sure it's intact, that there aren't shattered shards left behind when it's removed. Dropping it onto the metal tray with a clink.

Jack keeps up a steady stream of conversation, for Mac and for himself if he's honest.

The twitching muscles slow, and relief floods his body. As the pain dissipates feeling returns and the sensation of Mac pulling out the pins causes him to squirm.

"Hey, stop that," Mac's hand presses against Jack's shoulder, stilling the motion. "We're almost done, do you need a break."

"No, just get 'em out," Jack says, trying not to wiggle.

"Just a few left." Mac brushes his hand across the back of Jack's neck."You... you're doing good."

Jack smiles at the words. It sounds like something he'd say to Mac is the situations were reversed. Something to keep him calm and quiet, reassure him. Sometimes Jack forgets that Mac is still a kid. Picking up his social cues from Jack. Learning how to take care of someone, because there weren't many people in the kid's life to learn from.

Not that Harry didn't try, but he was an old man, suddenly thrust into the role of raising a precocious ten year old boy.

"Okay, that's all of them."

Jack breathes a sigh of relief, which Mac echoes. He rolls onto his side, muscles protesting, sliding into a sitting position. Jack sways on the edge of the table, trying to find enough muscle strength to hold himself upright. Mac's arm wraps around his shoulders steadying him.

He feels weaker than a newborn foal, on ungainly, unsteady legs.

A newborn foal would have his feet under him in an hour. Jack's got a sickening feeling it's going to take longer than that for him to feel up to wandering around on his own two feet.

His left foot in particular still feels like it has the needle protruding.

"I can stand," Jack protests. He takes a couple of deep breaths, mentally counting to three, before pushing himself off the table, and nearly onto the floor. If Mac hadn't kept his arm around Jack's shoulder, sliding his other hand under Jack's arm for support, Jack would have landed in a heap.

He leans heavily on Mac. Grunting in pain as his limbs flop helplessly.

"Guess I haven't gotten my sea legs yet," Jack says as Mac settles him to lean on the table again. "Just give me a second." He closes his eyes and breathes through the dizziness that plagues him.

"I think it's going to take more than a second. Just hang on and let me do the work."

"Isn't that my line?"

Mac turns to stand in front of Jack, ducking his shoulder, then folding Jack over it into a fireman's carry, strong legs and arms hoisting him into position.

"Wow, I can understand why you hate this so much," Jack grouses, shifting against Mac's shoulders. "This is really uncomfortable."

Mac snorts.

"I think it's partly because you're so bony. All sharp angles. No padding. You eating enough?"

"I'm carrying you out of here on my back, and you're complaining?"

"No, just making a note to make sure Bozer's feeding you enough. Oof-" Jack grunts as Mac hikes him into a better position.

"Ready?"

"Hell yeah, hoss. Let's get out of here."

* * *

  
Mac manhandles him into the front seat of the car, strapping his seat belt in place. If every cell in his body wasn't on fire he might be embarrassed by his weakness. All he wants to do is lay down somewhere flat, preferably on his back, find some clothes or a blanket, at this point he isn't picky, and try to let the pain fade.

He closes his eyes as his head bounces against the window. He can feel Mac's worried eyes spending more time on him than the road. They reach the airport and ex-fil in record time. Jack would be hard pressed to do better.

"I got it, hoss," Jack reassures as he forces uncooperative limbs into position to leverage himself out of the car.

Mac is at his side in an instant, his hand grasping Jack's upper arm. "Cause that went so well last time."

Jack's legs quake with effort. He gropes for the car door through the wave of dizziness. Mac's hands brace him, holding him upright, or he would have taken a header for sure.

After a moment to regain his equilibrium, Jack nods to Mac.

Mac pulls Jack's arm across his shoulders, offering himself as a crutch to steady Jack's gait. Mac's arm slides around Jack's waist. They stumble from the borrowed car, across the tarmac to the boarding stairs.

Nerves and muscles still protesting each step, unwilling to follow his body's commands, Jack has never been more grateful for Mac's stubborn tenacity.

Pulling Jack's arm more securely around his shoulders, it's Mac's strength alone that gets Jack up those stairs and into the ex-fil plane.

Jack flops onto the couch, panting. "Thanks, kid." He deflates in the seat, sprawling against the cushions.

Mac secures the door and confers with the pilot for a moment before the plane begins taxiing down the runway. He returns to Jack's side a moment later with the first aid kit and bottle of water. He squats next to the couch, wrapping his fingers around Jack's not bloodied wrist.

"You're still tachy."

"Yeah, well, you can be a little sloppy yourself, Einstein."

Mac rolls his eyes. "Tachycardia, your heart rate is too fast. I've told you that before."

Jack manages a weak smile. "And yet, you can't help but fall for it every time."

Shaking his head, Mac presses the water bottle into Jack's hand. "Drink," he orders, turning to crack open the first aid kit.

Jack swallows convulsively to push away the nausea. "Not sure if I can keep it down right now."

"You essentially ran a marathon without hydrating. You're going to be nauseated, dizzy, short of breath. I need you to try." Mac pulls supplies from the kit. The long cylindrical blue wrapped instrument that Mac sets next to Jack's hip sends his heart rate ticking faster. If Mac thought he was tachy before, he should not try taking Jack's pulse now. Jack tries to tamp down on the irrational fear. He can feel sweat beading on his forehead.

Mac rubs his fingers across Jack's forearm, looking for a vein, trying off the tourniquet near Jack's elbow.

"What are you doing there, hoss?" Jack's eyes narrow, watching his partner suspiciously, eyes dropping back down to the IV start kit next to him. He childishly wants to flick it off the couch. Doesn't want it anywhere near him.

"You need fluids."

"I can drink." To prove his point Jack pulls his arm from Mac's hands, cracks the seal on the bottle, trying to hide the wince of pain from sore muscles as he lifts it to his mouth.

"You need to drink plenty of water, but your muscles released a lot of lactic acid, creatine kinase, from the stress of their prolonged contracted state and you need to get that flushed out so it doesn't cause any damage to your kidneys," Mac says, snagging Jack's arm again, wiping down the skin with an alcohol prep pad.

"So toss me another bottle."

"You're getting an IV," Mac argues, opening the package.

"I'd prefer not," Jack says, eyes not leaving the intravenous needle in his partner's hands. Trembling that had started to dissipate after collapsing on the couch begins again with a vengeance.

"You wouldn't give me a choice."

Jack shrugs. "You probably wouldn't fight me on this. You're a smart kid."

"So you should listen to me," Mac scolds, holding onto Jack's arm as he tries to pull it away again. "Jack, it's at least two hours until we make it back to DXS. You can't wait that long. And you said it before, I've got steady hands," Mac teases lightly, the needle gleams, reflecting the dim interior light of the plane.

In Jack's wide eyes, the needle is the largest he's ever seen, bigger than what Leedom used to stick into his nerves.

He knows he's imagining it, but it feels like he's watching Mac twisting and twirling the needle like a baton, taunting it in front of Jack's face.

"Look, I know this is different than defusing a bomb, but I can do it. You can trust me."

"I do, hoss, just..."

"Just not enough to let me help you." Mac's face is frozen. He's got a good poker face, comes from abandonment and bullying and merciless teasing; always the odd one out, the outcast. But Jack's always been able to see through that, see the kid that was left behind by those that he should be able to trust. Now he can see the hurt buried there, that Jack, for all his talk, doesn't trust him when it matters.

Jack licks his lips. He should meet Mac's eyes. Should tell his partner what's going on. That a little piece of metal in his hands is scaring him more than staring down the barrel of a gun, or stepping on the pressure plate of an IED, but he can't form the words. Mac is supposed to trust Jack to protect him, how can he trust that if he knows a needle is inciting Jack's fight or flight response?

"Jack..." Mac says quietly, dipping his head, trying to look at Jack's face. "Are you... is this... because of Leedom?"

Jack gives a sheepish grin. "Guess I got a crazy new phobia."

"At least this one isn't that an elevator will freefall as you step through the doors and slice you into right and left halves." Mac reaches out, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder. "After what he did to you, it's not crazy."

"Sure feels like it is," Jack can feel his eyes prickle. "Little, itty bitty needle gets me all sweaty and nervous. Like an elephant being afraid of a mouse."

"Elephant researchers think that mouse theory has more to do with the element of surprise and the fact that they have poor eyesight. Maybe that's what this is too? Sneaking up behind you, sticking you in the back? Couldn't see it coming."

"Still don't really want you sticking me in the front though," Jack confesses. "But, I do trust you." Slowly he holds his arm back out to Mac.

Mac looks up at him with a degree of awe that Jack would push through his fears and trust him. Gently, he grasps Jack's arm, cleaning it again. Uncapping the needle and checking the orientation of the bevel, he pauses and looks up at Jack.

Jack gives him a quick grin then closes his eyes.

Mac tightens his grip, pressure to distract from the poke. Jack wishes he could say he didn't feel it, but at least he didn't flinch.

"Got it." Jack smiles at the relief in Mac's voice. He feels the same way. Soon he feels the cool saline trace its way up his arm.

Mac helps Jack sit up, cleaning out the pinpricks on his back, slathering them with antibiotic ointment and covering them with bandages. Supporting the damaged wrist with one arm, Mac carefully cleans then wraps gauze around the limb before propping it up on a pillow. He encourages Jack to take a few more sips of the water before helping him settle against the pillow, covering him with a blanket. Jack finds his heavy eyelids sliding closed. Despite aching, overworked muscles, he's relaxed.

For the first time in too long, Jack feels like he can give up control to another person. It's unexpected, and not unpleasant. It surprises him, the level of comfort he feels with Mac. He trusts Mac with his life. Mac has saved the day more times than Jack can count, and has saved Jack's life almost an equal measure. He would willingly die for the kid. Follow him to hell and back.

But this is different than a partnership or brothers in arms. It feels right. It feels like home.

"Hey, Mac," Jack says, opening his eyes again. Mac is at eye level, kneeling on the floor next to the couch, packing up the additional supplies. "I do trust you. More'n I've ever trusted anybody in my life."

Mac nods slowly, unsure of how to respond. His fingers play with the left over packaging from the first aid supplies.

"I'm not sure that you get enough credit for being able to wrangle me."

"When you start drawlin' and talkin' about wranglin' I know you're exhausted," Mac mimics Jack's accent.

"See what I mean, man, you get me," Jack says.

Mac looks up, brows raised at the words and Jack wondering if it's the first time Mac's been complimented on his ability to read people.

"You're the best decision I ever made," Jack says, making sure Mac's eyes are meeting his. Understands the truth in his words. A blush creeps up Mac's neck and into his cheeks. Jack smiles, then releases Mac from his discomfort. "Since you got me all squared away, I'm gonna conk out the rest of the flight, if you're okay with that?"

Mac nods and Jack pats his shoulder.

"You should get some rest too. Once we get home, I'm going to need some help staging another jail break. This time from medical."

"If they say that you have to, you're going to stay."

"I don't need to stay."

"You made me."

"That was different, you were hurting."

"You are grimacing in pain, right now," Mac counters, pauses for a moment before continuing, interrupting Jack before he can carry on the argument. "Jack, you made me go to medical, spend a night in observation because you said you needed to be sure that I was okay..." he takes a breath. "That you couldn't let anything happen to me." Mac ducks his head, then steels himself and looks Jack in the eye. "Well, I can't let anything happen to you. If they say you can go home, I'll drive you myself, but if they want you to stay, please don't fight it."

Jack feels like his heart might burst at how much he loves this kid. He recognizes the fear on Mac's face. Knows a similar expression has crossed his a few times. Especially since his assignment as Mac's Overwatch. "Yeah, yeah okay, you're right, hoss."

"But I will crank up these fluids a little bit," Mac says fiddling with the roller clamp. "Maybe if we flush your system enough we can bypass the overnight hospital stay. Just a check up, then pizza and beer on the deck?"

"Only if you can come up with an excuse that explains to Bozer why a young spry guy like me is moving like he's eighty?"

"Getting old is hell?"

"Forty, Mac. Forty ain't old," Jack protests.

Mac shrugs. "I mean, you graduated high school last century." He laughs as he catches the pillow Jack sends weakly his way.

"Better get some rest old man." Mac tucks the pillow back behind Jack's head, laughing as Jack grumbles about the perils of raising sassy blond wunderkinds.  



End file.
